


HOME ★

by elfroot



Series: Of Pride and Redemption [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cheese, F/M, Fluff, Hugs, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfroot/pseuds/elfroot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The actual story behind a beautiful piece of art I commissioned, drawn by elmroko (see notes). Dorian returns to Skyhold after defeating Corypheus, and both the final battle AND the Inquisitor help him come to terms with realizations he's been hesitant to confront—namely his undeniable affection for Cullen. Includes a brief mention of Solas, all the hugs as well as an unhealthy dose of fluff. <i>He's gone. Solas has faded into oblivion, and Lavellan wears pain on her face like she wore the intricate marks of her people—vallaslin, she once told him, and he doesn't think it'll ever be as easily erased. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	HOME ★

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elmroko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmroko/gifts).



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> original post [here](http://elmroko.tumblr.com/post/108937804719/notcommission-for-elfrooted). go and follow them if cullrian is your thing, you won't regret it.  
> feedback and comments are always super appreciated! hope you enjoy ♥

He's gone. Solas has faded into oblivion, and Lavellan wears pain on her face like she wore the intricate marks of her people—vallaslin, she once told him, and he doesn't think it'll ever be as easily erased. Agony lingers in her eyes even as a sense of victory settles in their minds, and she _grieves_ , the elf's absence causing the kind of torment he doesn't know how to soothe. He feels it, too. The same distress, tight around his heart, and when she smiles against his shoulder, her lips twisted in sorrow, he holds her with love and with guilt and a choked sliver of hope cramps his throat. _He understands_. Even in spite of her suffering she prevails, she endures, strength and fervor and inspiration, and he knows now that staying true to one's heart is the only thing that matters. Corypheus has been defeated, yet _they_ remain, an unlikely group of friends closer and stronger _together_ , more than any family could ever be. He should know, and he does _now_ , because of her, and if he's pondered wandering back home for a time, he doesn't any longer.

It's only when he walks through the gates of Skyhold that another realization dawns on him—the same gates he's observed for so long, watching with a keen eye friends and foes crossing their boundaries, and he didn't think he'd see them again so soon, if ever. He suspects he's known all along, but there's something to be said about near-death experiences, and how it opens the mind. His own reels with both dread and buoyancy—it could have been him. As he walks closer to the battlement, every bit of him focused on the proud commander standing tall atop the stairs, he realizes he could have lost him. He could have lost _himself_ and never again seize another opportunity to see Cullen, and his guts churn at the thought and his self-control snaps—before he even knows what he's doing, he catches Lavellan's encouraging smile from the corner of his eyes, bright and strained, and it's all he needs.

Cullen's gaze swivels down to meet his as he climbs up to reach him, palms moist and pulse high. It's all he can do not to run and lurch himself at him, and his muscles ache from his restraint, a trembling mess before him. Cullen must have noticed. He moves towards him, concern clear in his eyes, and there's something else in their gleam—disbelief, perhaps—a touch of melancholy.

"You're back," he murmurs, and he frowns, an odd sort of pain creasing the mild flush on his face. Dorian gulps down a mouthful of sighs he can't sigh, and he nearly chokes on the chuckle he forces out of his throat.

"You sound surprised, Commander," he says, but his voice is broken, dry, and the affliction in his eyes doesn't match the curve of his lips. "Did you ever doubt it?"

"For a moment, yes. I..."

He glances down, his gaze sliding off him too easily, and Dorian's heart pounds in his chest. There's a confession on Cullen's tongue that he can feel in the thick air between them, and he fears it'll escape him, lost in the commander's own dread. But he looks up almost as quickly as he looked down, and his eyes shine dark and his arm reaches up, a light touch on Dorian's shoulder rather than around the back of his neck.

"No," he shakes his head, bold and adamant, and gone is the bashful knight as he moves closer. "I only doubted myself, but I've scampered from the truth for much too long."

There's a faint question in Dorian's eyes—he never knew what it felt like to be rendered speechless before—and Cullen answers with a dip of his chin, the soft notes of his voice only meant for him.

"No forces in Thedas could have kept me here had you not returned, I—"

 _—would have looked for you_.

Dorian doesn't let him finish. He _knows_ , and he does lurch himself at him, a swift embrace as he shoves fear and doubts aside and basks in Cullen's warmth instead, fingers twisted sharp in the soft fur of his pauldron. He breathes, finally, a long and broken exhale as Cullen's arms snake around his waist and pull him tight against him, and they crush each other, clinging in the sort of desperation that only an open heart can soothe. They could have lost each other. To death, to fear. To stubbornness. Dorian feels in Cullen's hold the same ardor he's been so afraid to unleash, and the hard beat in his chest echoes his own.

He smiles, a tremble of his lips, and he doesn't care that moist has spread in his eyes when he buries his face in the crook of Cullen's neck.

"Now, now, don't be absurd, Commander," he teases, and he tries to keep the tears from running down his face as Cullen's cheek softly rests against his, in vain. "Have I led you to believe that I'd return home? Perhaps I have, I can't recall—and it's precisely where I am. Home is where the heart is, or so they say around here. You're Fereldan. You should know."

There's a sound bubbling in Cullen's chest, and it reaches his throat and it shakes them both, a gentle laugh as his arms tighten even harder around him.

"I do," he all but whispers, and it's the only certainty he has, this newly avowed and shared devotion—it's the only certainty he needs.


End file.
